Women -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
Ethel was very young, yet in youth such feelings are warmer in our
hearts than in after years. We do not know then that we can ever change;
or that, snake-like, casting the skin of an old, care-worn habit, a new
one will come fresh and bright in seeming, as the one before had been,
at the hour of its birth. We fancy then, that if our present and first
hope is disappointed, our lives are a mere blank, not worth a "pin's
fee;" the singleness of our hearts has not been split into the million
hair-like differences, which, woven by time into one texture, clothes us
in prudence as with a garment. We are as if exposed naked to the action
of passions and events, and receive their influence with keen and
fearful sensitiveness. Ethel scarcely heard, and did not listen to nor
understand, the change of circumstances that brought Villiers back to
her--she only knew, that he was confirmed her own. Satisfied with this
delightful conclusion to her sufferings, she placed her destiny in his
hands, without fear or question.
Mrs. Elizabeth thought her niece very young to marry; but Villiers, who
had, while hesitating, done his best to hide his sweet Ethel away from
every inquisitive eye, now that she was to be his own, hastened to
introduce Lord Maristow (Lady Maristow had died two years before) to
her, and to bring her among his cousins, whom he regarded as sisters.
The change was complete and overwhelming to the fair recluses. Where
before they lived in perpetual tête-à-tête, or separated but to be
alone, they were now plunged into what appeared to them a crowd. Sophia,
Harriet, and Lucy Saville, were high-born, high-bred, and elegant girls,
accustomed to what they called the quiet of domestic life, amidst a
thousand relations and ten thousand acquaintances. No female relative
had stepped into their mother's place, and they were peculiarly
independent and high-spirited; they had always lived in what they called
the world, and knew nothing but what that world contained. Their manners
were easy, their tempers equable and affectionate. If their dispositions
were not all exactly alike, they had a family resemblance that drew them
habitually near each other. They received Ethel among their number with
cordiality, bestowing on her every attention which politeness and
kindness dictated. Yet Ethel felt somewhat as a wild antelope among tame
ones. Their language, the topics of their discourse, their very
occupations, were all new to her. She lent herself to their customs with
smiles and sweetness, but her eye brightened when Edward came, and she
often unconsciously retreated to his side as a shelter and a refuge.
Edward's avocations had been as worldly perhaps as those of his pretty
cousins; but a man is more thrown upon the reality of life, while girls
live altogether in a factitious state. He had travelled much, and seen
all sorts of people. Besides, between him and Ethel, there was that mute
language which will make those of opposite sexes intelligible to one
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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